He always felt like their relationship was thriving, as much as any “normal” marriage would. Antonio couldn’t tell the doctor about his wife’s resurfaced memories, but he mentioned how much her hip had caused so much emotional stress and affected her routines. After Camille woke up, she looked at the way Antonio stared at her, and she decided to forget about the whole “incident” for good.
Although she decided to move on and never spoke about what she had remembered or experienced, her depression deepened over the years, and her light began to fade. Every day was just another day, and she no longer found joy in the things she once loved. The bond she had with both Antonio and Belinda had faded like mist in the air. She loved her family, but something inside her had died the day she overdosed years ago.
Now, looking back on all those events that led her to today, Camille did not want to have to talk to a cop; she feared she would get nervous. She wasn’t sure if she feared for her husband or for herself. “Things aren’t meant to remain hidden forever.” These thoughts bothered her for the rest of the day.
Once again, on the same couch she had sat on many years ago, Camille opened her laptop and Googled once again; this time, her search was about Belinda.
Camille tried to remember the song she heard; she remembered quite a bit of it but not all of the words. She tried to search for the lullaby, but nothing would come up. She tried to ChatGPT it, but again, nothing appeared. Then she opened Google translate and began to type the lyrics she remembered. Word by word, her world came crashing down once again.
“Pin Pon es un muñeco, /Pin Pon is a doll
Macabro y pálido, / Macabre and pallid
Se loava su carita, / It loava its face / it washes its face
Con sangre y ácido. / with blood and acid"
Although not all of the words were spelled correctly, she could deduce their closest meanings. With each word she translated, her heart sank deeper and deeper. She couldn’t figure out the rest of the words; she needed to hear them again and write them or record them. So far, this wasn’t good.
Her daughter now faced something she might not be able to escape. She wondered if she was born like this, if her absence did this to her, or if it was just a silly song her classmates were trending. Camille wiped the tears from her face as she contemplated what to do next.
A knock on the door startled Camille; it was too late for visitors. She walked toward the front door and peeked through the stained-glass window when she realized that it was two detectives. “Already? Fuck!” she cried out before opening the door halfway.
“Can I help you? Camille asked.
“Hi, yes. I am Detective Samantha Brown, and this is Detective Alex Miller. We are here to ask a few questionsabout your neighbor, Nancy Smith. Can we come in for a second?” the female detective asked.
“Right now, is not a good time. Everyone is getting ready for bed. Can you come on a different day? I’ll have tea, and we can talk.”
“My apologies. We will stop by in a few days. We will try to make it earlier next time. Thanks for your time.”
Camille closed the door before walking back to the staircase, “Did I just fuck up?” she wondered.
Upstairs, Antonio was laying on the bed. “Who was that?” he asked.
“Detectives,” Camille replied.
“Everything okay?”
“I sure hope so.”
After getting in bed with him, Antonio paid no mind to Camille. He turned off the nightstand light and turned his back to her. Camille, on the other hand, looked at him as she lay with her eyes peeled open in the darkness. “How can he sleep so peacefully?” she thought.
After thinking about it all night, Camille decided not to tell Antonio about the Spanish lullaby. While she hoped it was just a teenager phase, she planned to talk to Belinda about it once things begin to calm down within the neighborhood.
The next morning, Camille woke up before everyone else and made her way to the kitchen to start breakfast. She thought of packing a meal for Antonio but remembered that he always ate at the office. “A coffee will suffice,” she whispered.
When she opened the curtains of the kitchen window above her sink, she immediately jumped back at the sight of the broken-neck raven. “What the actual fuck?!” she shouted.
After a loud caw, the bird spread its wings wide before taking flight.
“How does that thing keep reappearing?” Camille stressed.
When she turned around, Belinda popped out of nowhere.
“Jesus, fucking Christ, it’s just not my day. ”
“I’m sorry?” Belinda asked.
